Marvin's Magic Drawing Stuff

I did not have the Marvin's Magic Drawing Board, so I can't tell you how the thing worked (I'm still trying to figure it out), but I did watch the commercial a good thousand times, enough to have those bright colorful swivels burned somewhere into the back of my brain. Apparently you'd swish around a little plastic scalpel and make the colorful underlay appear in the black. I didn't have that, but I did have the color changing pens...and yes, those were 100% legit, including the part about them being magical.

The only thing is the "invisible ink" one would start getting dirty with the ink of the other pens and that would make it less magical...

The Great Webelo Day Camp Event

Proud Webelo!

Sometime during the wet season back yonder in my lore, my entire Cub Scout council was invited to go on this "day camp experience." It was going to be a whole day of fun activities in the great outdoors, and we'd be the proud owners of a pretty big badge if we went, so naturally I went (for the badge mostly). I also wanted to get my feet wet in the whole "camp experience" thing since I dreaded going on an "overnight" (there were some things I just didn't want to see go down in a tent). So my dad and I set off in the wee hours of the morning to get hammered by the uber-scouting pack leader (who scared me on a daily basis a la Bushwhacked) for being "out of uniform" without my neckerchief.

So, once again, my dad and I set off in the later wee hours of the morning after the uniform dysfunction (which didn't even matter because nobody could see it under the coat anyways), and a couple hours later we finally arrived at the destination way, way, waaay the hell out in the sticks. Even just the bungly road out to the camp was designed to really give off that whole "rustic" experience, being about three miles of twisty, turny, bouncy dirt, rocks, and general woodsy "initiation turbulence" through the middle of the forest. At a speed limit of 2 miles per hour, no drink in any cup-holder was safe, and we both emerged in a state of involuntary spasm. Welcome to "Camp Norse"... a camp hardcore enough for the Norsemen, as I understood it. It's not anywhere near where I live (or anyone else for that matter) so don't even try to track me down.

The actual cabin.

From there on the trip quickly went downhill. First of all, of all the scouts in the entire council  only like four or five of us showed up to "represent," which means we were severely, severely outmatched by the other councils who had upwards of tens and twenties of scouts. Secondly, we learned that we were going to be lugging around a giant sled like a pack of Iditarod dog teams, in what was supposed to have been the fluffy snow which turned out to be mush and pine needles. Thirdly, it was damp, muddy, and damn cold. 

So here we were, all four of us sturdy-bodied ten-year-olds, dragging this giant heavy-ass snow sled with all our equipment on it from activity station to activity station, across wet pine needles, rocks, and downed tree branches which had to be frequently moved, falling down on our faces in the cold hard mud, as the other councils zipped around with twenty or so older and stronger guys in tow. We quickly became known by all the other competing councils as "the losers." One team even had wheels on their sled! All the while our drill sergeant pack leader would crack his metaphorical whip, shouting at us to "pick up the pace" and to "put our [you-know-whats] into it" (whatever that meant), but taking time to assure us that if there had been snow, that team with the wheels would've been screwed. I suppose that made me stop and ignore the pain in my shoulders, the humiliation of being in last place, and the cold mud on my drenched pants for a half-second. 

So the activities included things like climbing trees, building a fire, walking a tight-rope, archery, javelin throw, and our personal worst, tying knots. By the time we made it to any of the activity areas though, we were so grateful just to have made it that we didn't really care about doing what was set out at these stops, so we basically failed at everything. That's not even some cynical joke either, we really did fail at everything, but damn it, we were getting our badge!

But for what exactly? Well, certainly not for lame stuff like selling cookies and threading colored yarn and the sissy stuff the "girl scouts" do, or whatever. No. We were doing real Scout stuff. Boy stuff! Stuff like swearing, talking blood and guts, and joking about Your Mom... And penises and boners and poop... amid the near-constant chorus of burping and farting, and peeing, and farting and burping, and penises, and peeing and farting, and boners and farting, and peeing, and penises and farting and...  Merit badge please! (Like I said.... boy stuff!)

All joking aside though... even regardless of what horror stories and stereotypes you've heard about Boy Scouts... seriously, you'd still be surprised at how correct they all are and at how many bathroom stops boys need in a ten hour period of strenuous labor in the woods, for which we literally had the trees. It's like, you put us together in the woods, and our cycles align. Really, bodily functions and Your Mom jokes are about 80% of what Boy Scouts do on these trips. It's real. And it's a problem. 

"No pain, no gain," our pack leader said.

Picture Credit: Scouting Magazine

But through it all, at least we got outside, got to stretch our legs (and then some!), and got enough combined "pull my finger" and "number one, number two? Go find a tree!" jokes out of our systems to satiate our humor palettes for at least a couple days. And we got serious, serious props at the next council meeting for at least showing up and braving the wilds, the battles, and each other, to represent the council. And each of us came home with a sweet, well-deserved badge commemorating the valiant "effort," which we could lord over all the "no-show wusses." 

Still a proud Webelo...at heart! (Not in reality, because that would be weird).

The Adventures of Pete & Pete

The Adventures of Pete & Pete was like the last couple days of summer or at least the early days of thanksgiving break (and not just because the show seemed perpetually set in the late summer or early Autumn), and boy did I love it. It went and did all the things you only thought about doing as a kid, or at least, doing what you did to the Nth. Adults want you to stay after school? Stay there forever! Has oppressive bed time got you down? Join the "Nightcrawlers," stay up forever, and break the "International Adult Conspiracy" (governed by those suffering from hemorrhoids). School getting dull? Fake a sickday, or better yet, go for a "double dipper!" Left home alone? Sell the house! Of all things ginger and flannel cap, you couldn't beat this. From the rock band on the front lawn (the show's own house band, Polaris, from Mark Mulcahy, formerly of Miracle Legion... own their album, it's legitly good!) to the cutting of the grass with the approval of the lawn gnome, it was capital-R Radical, and true to what a brother relationship is like. I know, because this was pretty much my life as well.

And argue about it as much as you want, but we will never know the true lyrics of this song: 

So let's start out with the "Brothers Pete." Back then nobody seemed wiser than that spacey teenager with the denim and curly hair (named Pete) who narrated every "adventure," and nobody was downright cooler than his younger brother (also mysteriously named Pete) who could man his own ham radio station (WART), collect burps in a paper bag, wield a blow torch, and drive a riding mower to Canada. They were your average ginger brothers living in the suburbs of Wellsville, in a state only known as "The Sideburn State" on their license plates. Average, of course, if you ignore everything else about them and their surreal town. 

But then there were all their weird friends and enemies... first of all Ellen, older Pete's lifelong girlfriend, "friend who is a girl" and girl-friend (or whatever they decided it was that episode), a very mature-dressing, often-beret-sporting "young lady" (and a MASSIVE crush for me!) who dared to ask "why?" and played french horn in the marching band formations, scoring the "dot spot" in the word "Squids" (in Roman Gothic font, no less). Then there was also young Pete's lanky-armed "personal superhero" Artie The Strongest Man In The World (who was at least the strangest man in the world)... who was not a figment of his imagination but really just an ever-flexing, lanky mental patient weirdo in tights (sometimes with and without actual super-powers) who lived in a Porta-john and followed him around, calling him "My Little Viking!" (It seemed so much more innocent as a kid, I swear.) After that there was Dad, their very hair-impaired Suburban dad who dreamed of catching the prize-winning fish named Bob, and Mom, who had a metal plate in her head and had something to do with why the drive-in movie phonebooth had been ringing for 27 years (until young Pete saved the town from its endless ringing and finally answer the call). "Mom, it's for you."

This show had a whole cast of surreal characters. Even the metal plate in Mom's head was a character (named "Mom's Plate" in the opening credits), picking up radio transmissions and frequencies that would cause her to break dishware, as was young Pete's hot chick arm tattoo "Petunia," who he could make "dance" by flexing his muscle (but who "never made it into movies"). Then there was Ken the smoking crossing guard who had seen one too many spy flicks, Monica the "Kreb Scout of death" who never owned a pet that hadn't died (all 30 of them!), and Mr. Tastee the ice cream cone man who ruled the summer with an edible fist. There was Ray the Meter Man electrician who could see the future based on your house's kilowatt hour usage, Stu the love-crossed psychopathic school bus driver who tried to kill them all, Wayne the "Super Genius," and the British gym class teacher whose tyranny called for the great Dodgeball War after young Pete's insurrection.  Then there was Pit Stain, who really had a way of "picking your scabs," together with his crumby gang of bullies: Hair Net, Drawstring, and Nightbrace. Young Pete even had a personal "guardian angel of underwear" named "Inspector 34."

Eventually Artie left the show and they decided to give Younger Pete his own "friend who is a girl" (or girl-friend), and introduced Nona... a girl kind of his tit-for-tat equal and partner in crime! She was played by Michelle Trachtenberg (love of my young life), who later went on to be none other than Harriet the Spy! The untangling of their relationship is genuinely touching, and Polaris supplies the song "Everywhere" to supplement it, which... seriously check it out. Just as cool though is that her dad in the show is played by none other than Iggy Pop! The crazy thing is there's the godfather of punk rock, Iggy Pop, and yet he plays such a non-plussed character, perpetually disengaged from his own daughter (though trying his best). There's even an episode where he gets on stage to perform, and he does a slow crooner lounge number! The B52s also show up at one point. 

Watching a show like this for all three of its seasons could teach you some valuable lessons. For example, that the song "Marmalade Cream" was pretty hardcore. That there is nothing strange about cowboy neighbors branding their lawn equipment like cattle. That a hot summer day really can melt road tar and car tires. That kids who eat a lot of ketchup are definitely space aliens. That getting out of being grounded for life is as easy as tunneling through the yard with a string of Christmas lights and a mantle piece Statue of Liberty (symbolizing your freedom!!). That "Roadkill Bingo" can make a road trip more memorable. That pet geckos with a "lust for life" can play mini-Foosball. And that scissors definitely beats Papercut because he only throws paper!

I suppose the big lesson about the show though was just the brother relationship, and how the "Brothers Pete" could live in two totally different worlds and yet still jell (even if young Pete still needed a fresh supply of oxygen at his bedside after sharing a bedroom with his brother). The older Pete would be off doing the stuff teens do like hanging out with "girls" and working summer jobs (at the golf course and swimming pool) while Pete the younger would be doing all the cool stuff like launching the neighborhood "prank war" or traveling back in time on daylight savings (with the power of "Riboflavin") to exact revenge on the bully "Endless Mike Hellstrom."

This was adults vs. kids, kids vs. bullies, and "kids just being kids" stuff at its best, and it made you believe. Watching it now makes you realize just how innocent (and messed up) you were as a kid. More than sheer entertainment, the show has given me a very large collection of insults and minced oaths that I draw on from time to time in my daily life to "lay it down," so to speak. Such phrases as "get a life brain drain!"  "stuff it jerkweed!" "bust my clamps!" "suck my fumes, nimrod!" "oh poke me with a stick!" and "take that, lunch bag!" all really do the trick. And seriously, who can argue with such classics like "choke on it, tool box!" "kill me with a brick!," "cheese plug!," "no chance, wingnut!," and of course: "buckle up, it's not just the law, it feels good!" You said it younger Pete, nothing feels better than total subversiveness, and that's what this show was.

"Bite my scab!" --Paid for by the Committee to Give Pete the Bowling Ball.

Gym Class Air Tents

Everyone seems to remember that rewarding gym class experience where we all grabbed the big top tarp thing, each around the circle, and lifted it up and down until it formed some kind of dome. At this point, we were all told to run to the middle and pull it down behind us and sit on it. It made a nice CO2 gas chamber (or dutch oven, depending on what was for lunch) for 15 seconds until it deflated, but it was kind of like going into another dimension or something. I'm not sure what kind of hippy get-together wussy PE thing this was, but it sure was colorful, maybe even magical. For a dork like me, it certainly beat dodgeball, or any other sport in existence.

Jurassic Park Crunch

I know it's taboo to do two dinosaur-related posts in a row, but in honor of the fact that one of my all-time favorite movies is being re-released to theaters in 3D, I decided to do something Jurassic Park related. Speaking of which, does anyone realize that it has been 20 years since the first Jurassic Park came out? My mind!

In any case, my dreams had finally come true in 1996 when they finally, finally! announced that Jurassic Park was finally getting a sequel. I had spent the three years previous in complete and utter dino-mode, showing much adoration for anything JP related, or even just dino-related. I had virtually grown up on Jurassic Park games, books, school supplies, bed sheets, toys... you name it, and waited day and night in anticipation for a sequel. 

By the time good old "The Lost World: Jurassic Park" came out, I had grown a few more braincells and could appreciate it in a different way. The trailers really amped up all anticipation with scenes of giant steggies crossing a river and hunters bagging dinosaurs down in jeeps, and even the title "Lost World" made it seem like it was going to be even more epic than the first. And in many ways it was. Whereas I remember being 6 and utterly enjoying the first Jurassic Park (not even being scared), I was about 10 when The Lost World came out, and I was on the edge of my seat. Up until then, it was probably the most intense thrill ride of a movie I had ever been on. Even then I knew the premise was dumb and how incredibly ludicrous the ending was, but hey, at least the anticipation got me and my brother begging for its cereal. 

That's right, The Lost World had its own cereal, called Jurassic Park Crunch, from General Mills, and I desperately think they should bring it back, whether or not they ever decide to release Jurassic Park 4 from the top secret military vaults (or wherever they're hiding it). It was one of those things that I only barely remembered until I searched for it. The stuff actually did exist and indeed wasn't just some fantastic dream I had once or something. I remember there being marshmallow dinosaur eggs that dissolved in the milk and "hatched" dinosaur shapes or something like that. Unfortunately I didn't know it was a limited-time thing at the time, or else I probably would've bought the store out of it!

Luckily, I can always turn to Mr. Breakfast to refresh my memory about all things cereal related, and he says that as far as Jurassic Park Crunch is concerned: "The marshmallows came in "prehistoric marshmallow shapes" comprised of 3 dinosaurs and a dinosaur egg." Thanks to the magic of the internet, I also have pictures of what those 'prehistoric' "sweetened whole grain oat and marshmallow" pieces I had once shoveled into my mouth actually looked like. The catnip oat pieces were shaped like little footprints. The marshmallows were a pink triceratops, a striped raptor-looking dino, an egg, and a green T-rex-looking dino. 

The box also reveals that "If you hear this box roar, you could win a Lost World Adventure!" I had totally forgotten about that, but it's probably because ours didn't. I guess it meant you'd get to cut in line at the Universal Studios Jurassic Park ride or something. In any case, they should definitely bring this back, even if it's just for the Jurassic Park 3D re-release. The boxes alone are going for 15 bucks on ebay!

If the Dinosaurs Came Back

Kids aren't as stupid as they look, or at least I wasn't. Eh.. okay, maybe not us boys, but girls at least are not as stupid as they look. Either way, I never let the fact that if the dinosaurs actually came back we'd all be screwed undermine the enjoyment I took from If the Dinosaurs Came Back by Bernard Most, a book I read upwards of a thousand times in those early years. I don't ever remember thinking that if the dinosaurs came back, they'd be plowing our fields, transporting us over traffic, giving us water rides at the beach, or putting out fires in tall buildings, but hey... whether they're helping us or eating us... wouldn't it be so cool?

And I certainly disputed the idea that T-Rexes would be more interested in chomping down trees rather than chomping down lumberjacks. I still think it's plausible they could be used to scare away robbers though, "scare" being an understatement. But none of that mattered to me much, for all the reasons that make kids dumb: there were funny pictures.

But what was this book about? It was about a little boy who dares to dream, as most of us do. To dream that if the dinosaurs came back, they would be our friends and let us use their long necks as bridges and their teeth as lawn mowers. In other words, he dared to be pretty dumb about dinosaurs. But why did I enjoy this book? There were funny illustrations of dinosaurs, with all the little details that you only notice when you can't really read the words, like how the lumberjack is holing up a giant log with one hand, or how the swimmer is struggling to get out of the way of the giant dinosaur at the beach, or how one of the skiers looks like he's about to fly right off the dinosaur's snow-covered back! Whoa!

Funny illustrations were all I needed. Even funnier were my own illustrations, where I too dared to dream, about the dinosaurs terrorizing humanity and giving us a lot of dino-fertilizer (like in Jurassic Park). I was either a brilliant satirist, or really was as dumb as I looked. But maybe that was the point. This book made kids think hypothetically at a time when all we were thinking was "dinosaurs!"

Killing a Tamagotchi

I never owned a Tamagotchi back in the days when kids owned these things as pets. I still don't know exactly what they were supposed to be, coming in those little plastic egg things and blinking around the screen like a little Digimon whathaveyou, but I certainly killed my fair share of them.

The girls used to play with them in school and would often conveniently leave them behind at their desks for mischievous dorks like myself with nothing else better to do but unleash a little mayhem for shits. Something about sabotaging a girl's tamogotchi always felt like sweet payback for something, maybe just for outsmarting us all the time perhaps. Sure, we had the "Talk Boy" and the "Game Boy"... so how dare girls play with their own techno-toys! I mean, think of it as us just picking on something our own mental size! For the record though, I don't think I personally was brave enough, or mean enough, to do the dirty and (moderately) hilarious deed myself, but I do remember at least instigating it, consenting to it, and perhaps aiding and abetting the real perps (my best friend Nick), and getting bitched out for it. Either way I plead the fifth. In my defense, I knew it would be totally worth it.

Now the easiest way to kill a Tamagotchi was to press that button on the back (which would "reset it") and leave it behind for the owner to figure it out a half hour later when the thing wasn't crying for even just thirty sustained seconds. I think we were doing the school a favor, actually, taking these things out. The other way was usually more time exhaustive, but a lot more fun, and involved feeding it like a nervous eater on a roller coaster. Keep pressing feed until it's wallowing in its own waste (and believe me, these guys really are little machines!). It won't take long after that. Then you put it back on the desk or in her drawer where she left it, and wait. Oh, the wait was palpable! And then she doesn't notice a thing until... "Wait a minute, my Tamagotchi is dead!!"

The pure enjoyment of "Hey! You killed my Tamagotchi!" was so brief, but then the chase was on. Hell hath no fury like a Tamagotchi owner scorned, and I don't think I have to tell you whose life they considered more valuable. They weren't just out for blood. Heck, my old friend Nick (wherever he is) probably still can't have kids because of it! (Sorry Nick!) But you know, still worth it. It's ironic too, seeing as the typical Tamagotchi died at least a couple times a day anyways... heck, you could accidentally kill it. Just sit on it for a long time. It's got to suffocate eventually!

These days, there's probably an app for it.